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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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http://www.archive.org/details/quakerlovestoryaOOjoneiala 


A 


QUAKER  LOVE  STORY 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS, 


MSRIS  ¥,  JONES. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


CHICAGO  : 

M.  W.  JONES,  76  CALUMET  BUILDING. 
1885. 


Copyright  by 

maria  w.  jones. 

1885. 


P; 

215! 

5 


TO  MY  SISTER  FRANCES, 
WHO  FIRST  SUGGESTED,  THEN  INSISTED, 
THEN     PERSISTED     THAT    I    SHOULD     PUBLISH     THIS 
LITTLE    VOLUME,   IT    IS    LOVINGLY    DEDICATED,    WITH    THE    COM- 
FORTABLE   ASSURANCE     THAT    IF    IT    PROVE    A    FAIL- 
URE,  I    SHALL    HIDE    BEHIND    HER  MY 
DIMINISHED    HEAD. 


(5) 


1035901 


fiz 


G^orifer^. 


Prelude  ........       n 

A  Quaker  Love  Story     ----..  13 

My  Kiches        *-.-.-....       88 

A  Vision       -----...  36 

What  Dost  Thou  Fear?       ......       87 

Enough         ........  38 

Commonplace    ---.---.39 
Waiting        ........  41 

The  Cherry  Festival  of  Hamburg  ....        44 

Carrie  -•'---'.'■...  48 

For  Others'  Sake       ---„..  -        50 

King  Water  .......  53 

Beyond  the  Hills      -.--.-,56 
Love  --..-.„  59 

In  Embryo         ------  -  -        61 

Edith  ........  63 

In  Memoriam    -...----65 

The  Message  of  the  Snow         -  67 

Cm  Bono  ? •  =69 

A  Friend,  Married  in  April      -  73 

Lines  Written  on  Birch  Bark  to  a  Friend      -  74 

SOKHETS. 

Paradise  Regained     .-..-...-.        76 
Onward  to  the  Sea  ------  77 

To  a  Friend  in  England  upon  Her  Wedding-Day        «  -        78 

To  M.  H.  P. 79 

To  a  Pansy        -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -80 

(7) 


Rofe. 


The  following  Quaker  Love  Story,  told  first  by  the  hero- 
ine nearly  sixty  years  ago,  and  now  retold  in  verse,  has,  I 
fear,  little  to  recommend  it  but  its  simplicity  and  truthful- 
ness; "A  certain  sweet  New  Testament  plainness" — to  bor- 
row one  of  Charles  Lamb's  inimitable  expressions — having 
always  been  a  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the  Friends. 

The  greater  number  of  the  remaining  poems  have  already 

appeared  in  The  Scribner,  Century,  Current,  Independent, 

Christian  Union,    Weekly  Magazine,  and  other  publications 

of  the  day. 

"  What  is  writ  is  writ; 
Would  it  were  worthier." 

M.    W.    J. 

Chicago,  9th  mo.,  1885. 

(9) 


IprefuSLe. 


The  dear  old  twilight  stories 
I  heard  at  mother's  knee 

Still  float,  in  echoed  sweetness, 
Down  through  the  years  to  me. 

And  still,  as  then,  seems  better 
And  dearer  than  the  rest, 

A  quaint  ancestral  story — 
One  mother  loved  the  best — 

Of  a  sweet  Quaker  maiden, 
Who,  in  one  far  spring  day, 

Rode  off  to  do  God's  errand, 
And  lost  her  heart  away. 


(11) 


K  QUAKER  LOYE  STORY 


OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


A  ND  so  my  dear,  thou  fain  wouldst  hear  about  my  girl- 
*  *■    hood  days, 

And  my  long  ride  with  Tacy  Gray  across  rough   mountain 

ways. 
To-day  I've  thought  it  over,  as  I  went  about  my  tasks, 
And  I  believe  it  will  be  right  to  grant  thee  what  thou  asks. 


For  it  may  be  a  strength  to  thee,  to  know  how  I  was  led 
Through  all  these  years  along  life's  path,  and  gently  shep- 
herded. 
I  have  not  yet  forgotten  how,  in  my  earliest  youth, 
By  mother's  side  in  meeting,  I  felt  tenderings  of  Truth. 

13 


14  A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 


By  the  solemn  silence  quickened,  the  conscious  tear  would 

start ; 
And  now  and  then  a  trembling  sigh,  from  some  contrited 

heart, 
Would  rise  and  beat  its  viewless  wings  a  moment  'gainst  the 

air, 
And  emphasize  the  stillness,  as  an  amen  does  a  prayer. 

4. 

If,  when  a  Friend  was  moved  to  speak,  the  Word  with  power 

came, 
I  felt  it  search  my  little  heart  like  penetrating  flame. 
Again,  like  dew  upon  the  grass,  the  Spirit's  precious  dole 
Fell  on  the  tender  leaves  of  faith  unfolding  in  my  soul. 

5. 

But  yet  the  world  attracted  me,  and,  as  I  grew  in  years, 
My  plain  dress  was  a  cross  I  bore  with  some  rebellious  tears. 
I*  seems  strange  now,  in  looking  back,  what  weight  the  out- 
ward had, 
And  how  I  tried  to  compromise  betwixt  the  good  and  bad. 


A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY.  15 

6. 

But  compromises  only  feed  the  tempted  heart's  unrest. 

A  clear  renunciation  ends  the  struggle,  and  is  best. 

The   Lord  helped   me   to    see  it   so,  and  gave  me  sweet 

release, 
And  then,  I  wore  our  garb,  and  yet  was  clothed  upon  with 

peace. 

7. 

I  think  it  was  soon  after  that,  when  I  was  twenty-three, 

It  was  borne  in  on  my  mind   that  the    Master  called  for 

me 
To  go  as  a  companion  for  our  dear  friend  Tacy  Gray 
To   Virginia    Yearly    Meeting,    and    the   meetings    there 

away. 


We  started  in  the  spring-time,  one  early  Fifth-month  morn, 
A  dewy  freshness  filled  the  air,  the  world  seemed  newly 

born, — •■ 
The  birds  like  joys  embodied  went  floating  in  the  sheen, 
Or  sang   amid  brown  twigs    outlined   in    mists  of  tender 

green. 


16  A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 

9. 

And  I  remember  now,  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday, 

How   quickly   joyous   Nature   brushed   my   farewell    tears 

away. 
Ah,  when  we  are  at  peace  within,  the  heart  will  lightly 

rise 
Like  a  free  bird,  and  earth  will  seem  the  long  lost  paradise. 

10. 

There  were  no  public  coaches  went  across  the  mountains 

then — 
For  this  was  twenty  years  ago,  in  eighteen  hundred  ten — 
And   the   usual  way   of    travel  was  by  horseback  in  that 

day, 
And  even  now  it  seems  to  me  'tis  the  ideal  way. 

11. 

I  can  come  so  near  to  nature,  for  my  horse  finds  all  paths 

free ; 
Between  him  and  his  rider  is  so  close  a  sympathy, 
That    the     sinewy,     swift    motion  which    to  him    belongs 

alone, 
Gives  me  a  sense  of  freest  strength  as  if  it  were  my  own. 


A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY.  11 

12. 

Just  at  the  last  Friend  David  Gray  concluded  not  to  go; 
He  could  not  see  his  way  quite  clear,  but  Jabez  Shillito — 
A  kind  of  inexperienced  man — was  going  part  our  way, 
Whom  father  thought  would  be  no  use,  but  I  heard  mother 
say, 

13. 

"Nay,    "William!    like  the  effigy  thou   in   thy   field   didst 

set, 
I  really  think  the  man  will  do;  for  people  are  not  yet 
Much  wiser  than  the  birds, — we  often  say :    '  There  some 

man  goes;' 
When,  after  all,  the  creature  owes  his  sole  importance  to  his 

clothes." 

14. 

It  was  a  goodly  distance — four  hundred  miles  or  more — 
For  two  women  upon  horseback ;  but  the  Holy  Spirit  bore 
Us  company  and  comfort,  and  we  never  had  a  fear ; 
Our  greatest   dangers  are  the  ones  that  lurk  within,  my 

dear. 

2 


18  A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 

15. 

I  had  never  seen  the  mountains;  and  now,  when  from  some 

steep, 
I  saw,  e'en  to  the  sky's  pale  brim,  the  circling,  billowy  sweep 
Of  verdant   fields,    and    forests — now    shadowed    and   now 

bright — 
Earth's  glory  broke  upon  me  in  a  flood  of  deep  delight. 

16. 

We  stopped  at  night  at  any  house  near  which  we  chanced  to 
be, 

At  wayside  inn,  or  farmer's  home,  and  Tacy,  frequently, 

Was  shown  the  state  of  some  dear  souls  which  were  in  bond- 
age led; 

And,  faithful  to  the  inwaid  voice,  she  left  them  comforted. 

17. 

One  evening  near  our  journey's  end  (we  had  been  ten  days 

out), 
We  queried  with  a  colored  man,  upon  the  road,  about 
Our  way.     We  hoped  to  find  some  Friends  residing  in  that 

part, — 
For  Friends,  though  strangers  in  the  flesh,  are  always  friends 

in  heart. 


A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY.  19 

18. 

"  Down  dis  road  hy'ar,  aboot  a  mile,  lives  Massa  Clark,"  he 
said; 

"And  down  dat  lane,  aboot  de  same,  lives  Massa  Ben  "White- 
head. 

Dey's  bof  yous  kind  of  people,  'taint  no  diffaence,  I  s'pose, 

Which  way  you  takes;  for  heaps  of  Friends  to  bof  der 
houses  goes." 

19. 

We  say:  "This  way  or  that?     It  does  not  matter  which  we 

name." 
Lightly  we  choose,  and  lo !  our  lives  are  nevermore  the  same ! 
But  they  who  take  the  Spirit  for  their  Comforter  and  Guide 
May  rest  content,  for,  soon  or  late,  they  shall  be  satisfied. 

20. 

Tacy  a  moment  waited  for  the  inward  "yea"  or  "nay," 
Then,  turning  down  the  lane,  she  said:  "  Come,  dear,  we  go 

this  way." 
We  found  our  host  a  bachelor,  with  servants  quite  alone ; 
Then,  I  wondered  if  dear  Tacy  had   indeed   been  rightly 

shown ! 


20  A    QUAKEIt    LOVE    STOEY. 

21. 

Next  day  we  went  to  Wain  Oak,  where  the  Meeting  was 

to  be, 
A  Friend  took  Tacy  in  his  gig;  our  host  lode  off  by  me! 
And  somehow  after  that,  all  through  the  Yearly  Meeting 

week, 
When  he  spoke  to  me,  'twas  as  if,  a  friend  from  home  did 

speak. 

22. 

It  came  to  pass  that  Friends  arranged  when  Yearly  Meeting 

closed, 
That  he,  as  he  had  time  and  was  seriously  disposed, 
Should  attend  with  us  the  meetings  belonging  to  our  sect, 
And  visit  scattered  families  as  Best  Wisdom  might  direct 

23. 

Of  course,  Benjamin  rode  mostly  along  by  Tacy's  side, 

And  I,  a  silent  list'ner,  was  content,  and  edified 

To  hear  them  talk  of  Early  Friends — how  clear  their  call, 

and  sure, 
To  come  out  from  the  world,  and  be  separate  and  pure. 


A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY.  21 

24. 

And  Tacy  thought  that  in  our  day  the  call  was  still  the  same ; 
She  tenderly  admonished  us,  in  the  dear  Master's  name, 
To  keep  ourselves  unspotted  from  the  world;  take  up  the 

cross 
And  follow  Him,   count  all  men  brothers,  and  Time's  glory 

dross. 

25. 
And,  dear,  I  feel  to  counsel  thee,  as  she  did  us  two  then, 
To  read  George  Fox's  journal  through;  there  thou  wilt  find 

why  men 
Were  once  constrained  to  think  the  verily  of  Quaker  Fox 
Was  more  than  the  strong  oaths  of  men  who  haled  him  to 

the  stocks. 

26. 
In  stocks,  in  prison,  stoned  and  scoffed,  our  Early  Friends 

stood  true; 
They  spoke  the  word,  they  did  the  deed  God  gave  to  them 

to  do. 
And  Cromwell  said,  when  he  had  looked  upon  George  Fox's 

face, 
"  Now  is  a  people  risen,  not  won  by  gift  nor  place." 


22  A   QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 

'   27. 

Thus  ran  our  talk,  by  field  and  stream,  as  we  went  on  our 

way, 
But  lapsing  into  silence  at  the  far  end  of  the  day ; 
Or,  when  we  entered  some  pine  wood,  where  each  tall,  dusky 

tree 
Stood  like  a  grave,  black  cowled  monk,  whisp'ring — Eternity. 

28. 
Sometimes,  when  it  would  happen  so  that  Benjamin  would 

ride, 
In  all  the  goings  to  and  fro,  a  brief  time  at  my  side, 
I  was  half  scared  and  half  ashamed  the  moment  he  had  gone ; 
For,  like  a  child  which  thinks  aloud,  I  feared  my  tongue  ran 

on. 

29. 
I  think  though  that  our  thoughts  unfold  more  freely  in  the 

air, 
Where  birds  and  trees,  and  bloom  and  bees,  their  sweets 

together  share. 
'Tis  nature's  way!  no  life  with  her  keeps  to  itself  apart; 
And  so  I  shared  the  thoughts  which  then  kept  budding  in 

my  heart. 


A   QUAKEK    LOVE    STORY.  23 

30. 

Those  long  rides  and  the  meeting  hours  were  times  of  deep 

content. 
The  cross  I  bore  when  leaving  home  was  gone ;  but  how  it 

went, 
Or  why  'twas  gone,  I  neither  asked  myself  nor  understood, 
I  only  knew  it  never  seemed  so  easy  to  be  good. 

31. 

But,  dear,  take  heed!  when  our  lines  fall  into  a  pleasant  place, 
It    is    not   always    safe  to   think    that  'tis    God's  precious 

grace 
Within  our  hearts,  which  mellows  them  and  makes  them 

glad  and  kind; 
For,  mayhap,  we,  when  trouble  comes,  our  old  hard  hearts 

shall  find. 

32. 

One  day  at  Black  Creek  Meeting,  when  Benjamin  had  led 
Our  horses  up,  as  usual,  for  us  "  to  mount,"  he  said, 
While    looking  up   at   Tacy — it  was  well  he  turned  from 

me — 
"  I  find  that  I  must  say  farewell,  and  here  part  company." 


24  A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 

33. 

I  heard  no  more — my  heart  stood  still — the  earth  swam  in 

eclipse  ^ 
Though  when  at  last  he   came  to  me,  I  said,  with  steady 

lips, 
Some  farewell  words,  then  rode  away — I  would  not    have 

him  know 
How,  like  a  ship  in  sudden  storm,  my  heart  reeled  to  and  fro. 

34 

But  after  that,  while  we  remained  among  Yirginia  Friends, 
I  listened  as  one  listens  when  the  hungry  heart  attends, 
For  some  news  dropped  of    Benjamin,    some  talk    of    his 

intent ; 
But  all   in  vain!     I  heard  no  word  of  why  or  where  he 

went. 

35. 

The  next  week  Tacy's  husband  came,  and  in  a  few  weeks  more 
We  to  Ohio  all  returned,  and  Tacy  truly  bore 
The  sheaves  of  Peace,  but  I — I  bore  a  heart  of  sad  unrest, 
Though  still  the  Spirit  whispered,  "  The  Lord  knows  what 

is  best." 


A    QUAKER    LOVE    STOEY.  25 

36. 

Autumn  had  come  ere  we  went  back.     On  hill  and  mountain 

side 
Nature  had  built  her  altar  fires;  the  trees  stood  glorified 
In  unconsuming  wondrous  flame,  like  unto  sunset  dyes, 
And  morning  mists  rose  up  from  them  as  incense  to  the 

skies. 

37. 

Yet  sadness  like  a  sombre  vail  lay  spread  o'er  everything, 
I   thought   it   was   the   difference    between  the   Fall    and 

Spring; 
But,  dear,  the  difference  was  in  me — the  vail  was  on  my  eyes ; 
The  earth  was  just  as  beautiful  and  just  as  glad  the  skies. 

38. 

"Elizabeth,"  said  father,  in  the  evening  after  tea — 

That  first  home-coming  night  when  they  left  mother,  him 

and  me, 
To  have  a  little  talk  alone — "A  friend  of  thine  was  here — 
A  friend  from  Old  Virginia,  Elizabeth,  my  dear, — " 


26  A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 

39. 

Spoke  mother,  breaking  in,  for  mother  had  her  views 
Of  what  was  right  in  keeping  back  the  best  of  any  news. 
"  I  reckon  thou  canst  guess  his  name  "  with  slow  speech  fa- 
ther said. 
Then  mother  spoke  right  out:  "My  child,  'twas  Benjamin 

Whitehead!" 

40. 

And  once  again  my  heart  stood  still,  then  loudly  on  it  went, 

I  almost  thought  they'd  hear  it  beat,  and  wonder  what  it 
meant. 

"He  seems  a  well-concerned  young  man,"  said  father,  talk- 
ing on. 

And  then  I  faltered  out:  "Thou  saidst  he  had  been  here, 
and  gone?" 

41. 

"Yes,"  father  made  reply,  "  he  has  gone  on  about  some  land." 

"  William,"  coaxed  mother,  reaching  out  her  kind,  persua- 
sive hand, 

"Thou  art  too  slow!"     "  He  asked  our  leave,  Elizabeth,  my 
dear, 

To  speak  to  thee,  and  child,"  she  said,  "  Fifth-day  he  will  be 
here." 


A    QUAKER   LOVE    STORY.  27 

42. 

And  so  he  came,  and  all  was  well ;  my  dear,  what  didst  thou 
say? 

0  yes!  he  found  at  Black  Creek,  in  the  meeting  that  last  day, 
That  all  his  heart  was  turned  to  me,  but  then  he  could  not 

say 
One  word  without  my  parents'  leave ;  for  that  he  went  away. 

43. 

We  handed  our  intentions  into  meeting  the  next  spring, 
And  were  married  in  the  Fifth  month.     Dear  Tacy's  offering 
Of  fervent  prayer,  when  we  had  said  the  words  that  made 

us  one, 
Fell  sweetly  on  our  wedded  hearts,  like  holy  benison. 

44. 

1  little  thought,  when  I  came  home,  that  I  so  soon  should 

ride 
Across  those  same  rough  mountain  ways,  by  Benjamin's  own 

side. 
God's  purposes  are  hid  with  Him,  and  silently  they  grow 
Until  what  perfect   time   He  wills  we   too  shall   see   and 

know. 


28 


A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 


45. 

Before  we  went,  the  way  seemed  clear  for  Benjamin  to  buy 
This  farm  right  next  to  father's,  and  together  he  and  I 
This  lofty  site  chose  for  our  home,  and  named  it  Prospect 

Hill; 
We  thought  it  then  earth's  fairest  spot,  and,  dear,  we  think 

so  still. 


PROSPECT   HILIi. 


A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY.  29 

46. 

I  do  not  mean  there  really  is  no  other  spot  so  fair; 

But  when  we  sauntered  arm  in  arm,  a  newly-wedded  pair, 

Through  the  long  lane  up  to  our  farm,  in  evening's  sunset 

glow, 
And  watched  the  shadows  slowly  creep  up  from  the  vale 

below, 


47. 


And  saw  upon  the  village  hill  the  sunlit  windows  shine, 
I  think  no  hearts  were  happier  than  Benjamin's  and  mine. 
It  was  the  happy  inner  glow,  as  well  as  that  without — 
That    sweet,    syllabic    sound    of     "  ours,"    I   haven't    any 
doubt, 


48. 


Which  made  it  then,  and  makes  it  now  to  us  the  place  most 

fair : 
We  relatively  judge  such  things,  but  we  must  have  a  care, 
In  intercourse  with  others,  about  the  words  we  use; 
For  language  is  a  precious  gift  that  suffers  much  abuse. 


30 


A    QUAKER    LOVE    STORY. 


49. 

There's  Benjamin  just  coming  in;  I  hear  him  at  the  door; 
I  wish  that  thou  wouldst  see  about — but  wait,  this  one  thing 

more 
I  want  to  add,  while  on  my  mind,  for  nothing  is  more  sure : 
Truth  is  the  salt  of  character  which  keeps  it  sweet  and  pure. 


©fi)er> 


rr)S. 


81 


MY    KICHES.  33 


MY    RICHES. 

GRAY  as  the  day,  and  poor  and  cold 
Seemed  life  to  me;  my  tears  dropped  down, 
Blurring  from  sight  the  garment  old 
That  lay  unpatched  the  while  I  told 

My  grieving  heart  how  Fortune's  frown 
Grew  darker  still.     To  others  came 
Beauty  and  wealth,  dear  love  and  fame; 
But  I — I  had  my  torn  old  gown. 

I  said — and  wept  more  bitterly — 

I  might  as  well  be  stricken  blind, 
If  there  is  naught  all  day  to  see 
But  four  bare  walls  staring  at  me, 

Blank  as  my  life.     O,  fate,  unkind! 
So  prodigal  of  gifts  to  some, 
Shall  gracious  beauty  never  come 

In  shape  or  tint,  my  home  to  find? 
3 


34  MY    RICHES. 

Like  a  rebuke  from  God,  there  came 

A  sunbeam  to  my  small,  bare  room, 
And  held  my  gaze  in  its  pure  flame 
Till  rebel  thought  and  fretful  blame 

In  it  seemed  slowly  to  consume. 
At  peace  once  more,  I  raised  my  eyes, 
And  saw  that  in  the  western  skies 

The  cold  gray  day  had  burst  in  bloom. 

I  watched  its  sunset  flower  grow 

From  matchless  bud  to  matchless  rose; 
Then  saw  new  glory  overflow 
And  drown  the  rose  in  brighter  glow 
Of  golden  light,  and  still  disclose 
New  loveliness  of  shape  and  hue, 
Which,  ever  as  I  gazed,  updrew 

My  heart  to  heights  of  sweet  repose. 

Riches  and  beauty  for  the  world! 

I  cried.     Thou  unlost  Paradise! 
Changing  from  bloom  to  isles  impearled 
In  golden  seas,  to  flags  unfurled 


MY    RICHES.  35 


O'er  domes  and  minarets  that  rise 
From  jeweled  walls,  then  disappear 
Lost,  in  a  fire-fringed  sapphire  mere, 

Where  white  and  weird  a  great  ship  lies. 

God  surely  meant  no  life  should  be 
All  bare  of  beauty — wondrous  sky! 

When,  in  His  love,  endowing  thee 

With  richest  grace  of  land  and  sea, 
He  gave  thee  place  to  overlie 

All  life.     So  mine!     I  am  not  poor; 

For  thy  gold  falls  upon  my  floor, 

Thy  priceless  pictures  charm  my  eye. 


36  A     VISION. 


A    VISION. 

A     LOVELY  being,  sweet  and  fair, 
\*     Lips  parted,  as  in  blessing, 
A  bright' ning  halo  round  her  hair, 
Hands  outstretched  for  caressing. 

And  night  by  night  her  glad  wise  eyes 
Foreshine  their  nearer  glory 

With  glimpse  and  gleam  of  Paradise, 
And  grand  prophetic  story. 

But  morn  by  morn  I  wake  to  find 

The  old  unlifted  sorrow, 
And  just  as  far  away  the  kind, 

Dear  vision — called  To-morrow. 


WHAT    DOST    THOU    FEAR?  37 


WHAT   DOST   THOU    FEAR? 

"The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil" 

WHAT  dost  thou  fear,  O  coward  heart, 
That  thou  dost  tremble  so? 
Though  thunderbolts  are  hurled 

At  thee,  dost  thou  not  know 
That  God  Himself  doth  take  thy  part 
Against  a  stormy  world? 

Why  long  for  rest,  O  weary  heart? 

Though  care  and  pain  and  strife 
Hinder  and  mar  the  mesh 

Thou  weavest  of  thy  life; 
Yet  God  Himself  doth  take  thy  part 

Against  rebellious  flesh. 

O,  why  despair,  thou  doubting  heart? 

God  put  thee  here!     No  right 
Hast  thou  to  moan — "At  length, 

Adversely  goes  the  fight;" 
For  God  Himself  doth  take  thy  part 

Against  the  devil's  strength. 


38  ENOUGH. 


ENOUGH. 

FKOM  a  cleft  in  a  rock  a  harebell  grew, 
And  gathered  of  rain,  and  sunshine,  and  dew, 
Its  measure  of  life,  in  its  cup  of  blue. 

In  a  cabin,  out  in  a  western  wild, 

A  maiden  bent  over  her  work,  and  smiled — 

For  the  old,  old  story  her  heart  beguiled. 

The  world  is  wide ;  but  a  bit  of  its  earth. 
In  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  gave  beauty  birth 
And  nourishment  meet  for  its  own  sweet  worth. 

The  world  is  wide!  but  the  maiden  well  knew 
No  heart  in  it  all  was  more  fond  and  true 
Than  the  one  that  her  troth  was  plighted  to. 


COMMONPLACE.  39 


COMMONPLACE. 

ONCE  I  heard  a  dandelion  say — 
Some  folks  hear,  in  a  curious  way, 
Voices  mute  to  others — 
"Dandelions  are  so  commonplace, 
Without  any  special  gift  or  grace, 
What's  the  use  of  blooming? 

"  Could  I  only  be  a  tube  rose  sweet, 
Life  indeed  would  offer  something  meet 

For  my  best  endeavor. 
But  a  dandelion!     Dear,  O  dear! 
I  have  yearnings  for  another  sphere 

Not  so  very  common." 

Hardly  had  she  ceased  her  mournful  plaint, 
Hung  her  head,  with  grief  and  chagrin  faint, 

When  some  children  spied  her, 
And  in  chorus  all  began  to  shout: 
"The  dandelions  are  coming  out; 

The  dear  dandelions." 


40  COMMONPLACE. 

Later  on,  a  poet  of  sweet  note 
Smiled  upon  her,  and  a  poem  wrote, 

Calling  dandelions 
The  bright  gold  which  Spring,  with  lavish  hand, 
Scatters  broadcast  over  all  the  land 

For  dear  little  people. 

"It  were  better,"  wrote  he,  "to  forego 
All  the  stately  flowers  that  may  blow 

In  conservatories 
Than  that  little  children  should  e'er  miss 
Largess  full  and  golden,  such  as  this — 

Spring  time's  dandelions." 

It  were  better,  thought  I,  to  forego 
All  the  wonders  that  the  savans  know, 

Than  life's  lowly  duties. 
Thus  I  took  the  lesson  to  my  heart, 
Glad,  once  more,  to  do  my  simple  part 

'Mongst  the  commonplaces. 


WAITING.  41 


WAITING. 

STEEPED  in  sunshine,  bathed  in  dew, 
Year  by  year,  the  strange  plant*  grew, 
But  no  grace  of  flower  knew. 

Seeing  it  a  zealot  said, 

Hotly  shaking  his  young  !head, 

"  Without  works  one  is  as  dead." 

Did  it  start  impatient  then, 

Try  to  break  its  bands  of  green 

With  the  life  which  throbbed  between? 

Nay!  it  seemed  but  as  before, 
Though  it  may  have  more  and  more 
Life's  sweet  pain  have  pondered  o'er. 


Many  years  had  come  and  passed, 
And  the  plant,  still  bloomless,  cast 
Broader  shadows.      But,  at  last, 


'  The  Century  Plant. 


42  WAITING. 

One  fair  morning,  going  by, 
Some  one  looked,  and,  with  a  cry, 
Called  the  people  far  and  nigh. 

For,  from  out  the  circling  green 
There  uprose  a  wondrous  sheen, 
Bud  and  bloom  did  overlean 

The  broad  leaves,  and  climb  so  high, 
All  their  beauty  none  could  spy, 
Save  the  tender,  smiling  sky. 

'"Tis  a  tree  of  soft,  pale  flame, 
Greenly  whorled,"  said  one  who  came, 
Trying  vainly  thus  to  name 

Such  unwonted  loveliness. 

In  their  prodigal  excess, 

Bud  and  bloom  seemed  numberless. 

But  the  zealot  humbly  said, 
Bowing  low  his  hoary  head: 
"Lo!  it  teaches  in  my  stead. 


WAITING.  43 


"  Now  I  know  that  soul  is  great, 
Which,  aware  of  its  estate, 
Nobly  is  content  to  wait. 

"As  for  me,  O  foolish  man! 
I  have  learned  that  no  one  can 
Sit  in  judgment  on  God's  plan. 

"  When  'tis  time  for  deed  or  flower, 

He  alone  can  strike  the  hour 

From  the  heights  of  His  watch-tower." 


44  THE  CHEERY    FESTIVAL    OF    HAMBURG. 


THE  CHERRY  FESTIVAL  OF  HAMRURG. 

T  T  ARD  by  the  walls  of  Hamburg  town, 
■*■  *      Four  centuries  ago, 
Procopius  his  soldiers  led 

To  fight  their  German  foe. 
The  blue  sky  bent  above  the  earth 

In  benediction  mute, 
The  tranquil  fields  reposed  content 

In  blossom,  grain,  and  fruit. 

But  vain  the  "benedicite" 

Of  tender  brooding  sky, 
And  vain,  the  peaceful,  smiling  fields 

Gave  eloquent  reply. 
Unsoothed!  unmoved!  in  nature's  calm, 

The  Hussite  army  lay, 
A  threatening,  deadly,  human  storm, 

With  Hamburg  in  its  way. 


THE  CHERRY  FESTIVAL    OF    HAMBURG.  45 

To  swift  destruction  now  seemed  doomed 

The  dear  old  German  town. 
Before  Procopius  the  Great 

The  strongest  walls  went  down. 
But,  hark!  what  means  this  muffled  sound 

Of  swift  advancing  feet? 
Was  Hamburg  ready  after  all 

Its  hated  foe  to  meet? 


The  Hussites  quickly  sprang  to  arms! 

The  great  gate  opened  wide ; 
And  out  there  poured,  not  armed  men, 

But,  marching  side  by  side, 
Camo  little  children  of  the  town, 

Whose  round  eyes  met  their  gaze 
With  innocence  that  courage  was 

Unlearned  in  worldly  ways. 

The  men  threw  all  their  weapons  down 
At  sight  so  strange  and  fair! 

They  took  the  children  in  their  arms, 
They  smoothed  their  flaxen  hair; 


46  THE    CHEERY    FESTIVAL    OF    HAMBURG. 

They  kissed  their  cheeks  and  sweet  red  lips, 
They  told  how,  back  at  home, 

They  left  such  little  ones  as  they, 
And  then  they  bade  them  come 

To  cherry  orchards,  close  at  hand, 

And  there  they  stripped  the  trees 
Of  branches  rich  with  clustered  fruit. 

Their  little  arms  with  these 
They  filled,  and  with  kind  words  of  peace, 

They  sent  them  back  to  town, 
And  all  the  soldiers  marched  away, 

Nor  thought  of  their  renown. 

And  now,  each  year  in  cherry  time 

In  Hamburg,  one  may  see 
The  little  children  celebrate 

This  strange  sweet  victory. 
Again  the  tramp  of  little  feet 

Is  heard,  as  side  by  side 
They  march  all  through  the  quaint  old  town 

In  childhood's  joyous  pride. 


THE    CHERRY    FESTIVAL    OF    HAMBURG  47 

Again,  within  their  arms  they  bear 

Green  branches,  through  whose  leaves 
Ripe  cherries  gleam,  and  tell  a  tale 

More  strange  than  fancy  weaves, 
About  a  bloodless  battle  fought 

Four  hundred  years  ago, 
When  children  saved  old  Hamburg  town 

By  conquering  its  foe. 


48  CAKRIE. 


A 


WINSOME  little  girl, 

As  pure  as  milk-white  pearl, 


As  sweet  as  fragrant  rose, 
As  blithe  as  bird  that  knows 

Only  to  soar  and  sing, 
On  swift  ecstatic  wing. 

So  glad  of  life — of  love — 
Of  sunny  sky  above, 

Of  all  these  things,  so  glad! 
Can  she  be  ever  sad? 


CARRIE.  49 


Ah,  yes !  so  sad  is  she 
O'er  broken  wing  of  bee, 

O'er  homeless  dog  or  cat, 
Or  any  creature  that 

God  made  and  man  forgets 
To  care  for,  that  she  sets 

Me  wondering  how  He, 
More  pitiful  than  she, 

Endures  so  patiently 
Man's  inhumanity. 


50  FOB    OTHEKS'    SAKE. 


FOR  OTHERS'  SAKE. 

"  Live  pure,  speak  true,  right  wrong,  follow  The  Christ — else 
wherefore  born?" — Idyls  of  the  King. 

A  ROUND  King  Arthur's  table  came 

**■     Brave,  stalwart  men,  who,  soon  or  late, 

Won  for  themselves  a  famous  name, 

And  climbed  up  to  a  knight's  estate. 
And  each  one  sought  some  maiden's  smile, 

Her  "favor"  on  his  helmet  wore, 
On  deeds  of  errantry — the  while 

She  praised  and  loved  him  more  and  more. 

And  poet's  idyls,  new  and  old, 

Cease  not  to  tell  the  wondrous  tale, 
How  these  good  knights,  so  true  and  bold, 

Rode  forth  to  make  some  tyrant  quail 
In  his  stronghold;  for  ladies  fair 

Risked  life  and  limb,  and  thought  no  deed 
Too  hard  for  them  to  do  or  dare, 

Could  they  but  win  the  hero's  meed. 


FOR    OTHERS1    SAKE.  51 

O,  grand  the  story  of  brave  deed, 

And  sweet  the  guerdon  bravely  won; 
So  brave,  so  sweet,  that  as  we  read, 

Electric  currents  swiftly  run 
From  noble  lives  of  ages  past, 

And  thrill  our  hearts,  until  we  fain 
Would  live  as  they,  as  they  at  last, 

Such,  love,  such  praise,  such  honor  gain. 

Nor  are  there  wanting  men  of  might, 

Nor  wrongs  to  tilt  a  free  lance  for; 
Nor  now  need  maidens,  out  of  sight, 

Wait  weeping  till  the  battle's  o'er. 
Some  cycles  nearer  has  earth  rolled 

To  the  eternities,  whose  light 
On  it  more  broadly  falls.     Behold! 

God's  truths  shine,  out  in  clearer  sight. 

And  now  has  gentle  woman  found 

To  do  is  finer  than  to  be, 
That  our  King  at  whose  "Table  Bound" 

There  sitteth  "neither  bond  nor  free, 


52  for  others'  sake. 

Nor  male  nor  female  " — He  doth  make 
Us  "one  in  Him" — gives  unto  all 

Something  to  do  for  others'  sake, 
Some  blows  to  strike  for  error's  fall. 

For  other's  sake,  O  men  of  might! 

For  other's  sake,  O  women  fail ! 
Spurn  from  your  taste,  your  touch,  your  sight, 

Circean  draughts  which  hide  a  snare 
That  robs  the  nation  of  its  men, 

Wives  of  their  husbands  and  their  sons; 
Yea,  God  of  His  earth-born,  and  them 

Of  heaven  and  its  shining  ones. 

For  others'  sake!  O  strong!  O  sweet! 

O  common  tie !  that  binds  our  way 
To  God's  great  throne,  when  we  repeat 

In  such  small  measure  as  we  may, 
The  earth-life  of  His  own  dear  Son, 

Who  lived  and  died  for  others'  sake — 
For  others'  sake  God's  heaven  won 

By  cross  and  curse  none  else  could  take. 


KING    WATER.  53 


KING  WATER. 

r\  WONDKOUS!  beyond  all  compare, 
^  Is  the  palace  spacious  and  fair 
And  high  as  the  infinite  air — 

Of  water,  the  king. 
Its  walls  and  its  roof  are  the  skies, 
Whose  far  deep'ning  glory  outlies 
The  uttermost  reach  of  our  eyes, 

Or  bird's  swiftest  wing. 

The  king  calls  the  aid  of  the  sun, 
And  beautiful  rainbows  are  spun, 
Which  hang  a  few  moments  when  done, 

Upon  his  gray  walls — 
Then  fade  from  our  vision  away 
Like  dreams  of  the  night,  when  the  day 
From  wonderland,  changeful  and  gay, 

The  spirit  recalls. 


54  KING    WATEK. 

Anon  he  flings  oyer  the  sun 

Such  curtains  of  mist  that  not  one 

Tiny  ray  can  creep  through,  and  run 

To  earth  with  its  light. 
Fiery  flames,  too,  own  his  command, 
They  leap  up!  but  cannot  withstand 
The  weight  of  his  cool,  mighty  hand — 

They  sink  out  of  sight. 

The  earth  with  its  harvests  is  crowned, 
The  great  wheels  of  labor  go  round, 
The  mills'  golden  grain  heaps  are  ground 

By  help  from  his  throne. 
The  traveler  is  sped  on  his  quest 
By  a  steed  that  needeth  no  rest; 
For  this  king  hath  breathed  in  his  breast 

The  life  of  his  own. 

His  voice  in  the  cataract's  roar, 
In  the  waves  that  break  on  the  shore, 
Proclaims  in  our  ears  evermore 
His  glorious  might. 


KING    WATER.  55 

And,  again,  in  the  musical  flow 
Of  the  brook,  'tis  silv'ry  and  low 
As  the  laugh  of  a  child  when  we  know 
It  laughs  with  delight. 

But  another  has  set  up  his  throne 
In  the  land  this  king  calls  his  own, 
And  by  deeds  dark  and  evil  has  grown 

King  Alcohol's  fame. 
He  makes  of  earth's  fruit  and  its  grain 
A  poison  that  maddens  the  brain — 
His  subjects  seek  honor  in  vain. 

They  only  find  shame. 

But  lo!  he  now  trembles,  afraid 

Of  the  nations  whose  trust  he's  betrayed, 

"Whose  homes  he  has  desolate  made — 

And  fain  would  he  bring 
Peace  off 'rings  of  money — but  no! 
A  voice  like  the  cataracts  flow 
Shall  thunder:  "The  tyrant  must  go, 

For  Water  is  King." 


56  BEYOND    THE    HILLS. 


BEYOND  THE  HILLS. 

►*  T  WISH  that  I  could  go  away,"  sighed  Claire, 
*  Leaning  a  pensive  face  upon  her  hand, 
And  looking  off  with  wistful  eyes,  where  fair 
And  far,  the  hills  shut  in  the  quiet  land 
Whereon  her  gaze  had  fallen  every  day 
Since  her  young  life  began.     "I've  half  a  mind," 
She  said,  "that  I  will  start  and  run  away — 
Like  boys  do  in  the  story  books — and  find 
What  lies  beyond  those  far-off  watchful  hills." 

"  I  almost  feel  that  I  am  rooted  here 
As  are  the  trees  within  our  door-yard  small. 
They  can  do  naught  but  stand  there  year  by  year, 
Until  at  last  they,  gnarled  and  bent,  shall  fall 
As  I  shall  some  day  on  my  wrinkled  face — 
Still  looking  toward  the  hills,  and  old  and  gaunt, 
Still  standing  in  the  same  familiar  place. 


BEYOND    THE    HILLS.  57 

I  cannot  bear  it,  mother  dear,  I  want 

To  go — I  must  go — off  beyond  the  hills." 

"And  do  the  trees  indeed  stand  still,  my  dear?" 

Queried  the  patient  mother.      "  Do  they  not  grow 

A  little  nearer  the  blue  sky  each  year? 

Do  not  their  spreading  branches  ever  throw 

A  little  broader  shadow  in  the  sun, 

To  shelter  man  and  insect,  bird  and  beast? 

Of  all  the  gracious  leafy  trees,  which  one 

Has  not  a  better  thought,  for  you  at  least, 

Than  wayward  flight  beyond  the  untried  hills?" 

"  Well,  I  have  heard,"  said  Claire,  with  a  slow  smile, 

Still  gazing  at  the  hills,  "that  there  will  come 

In  time — whether  one  waits  upon  an  isle 

Amid  the  ocean  waves  or  sits  at  home — 

The  thing  that  one  above  all  else  desires. 

The  heart  is  its  own  oracle  of  fate, 

The  inborn  need  its  prophecy  inspires, 

And  mine  to  me  has  whispered,  '  Soon  or  late, 

Thou  shalt  go  forth  beyond  the  circling  hills.'  " 


58  BEYOND    THE    HILLS. 


Not  late,  but  soon!     O  grievous,  dread  surprise, 
When  sobbing  friends  beheld  sweet  Claire  depart: 
Not  as  she  oft  had  dreamed,  but  with  her  eyes 
Fast  closed  in  death.     Upon  her  pulseless  heart 
And  smiling  lips,  death's  solemn  secret  seal. 
"  She  never  had  her  wish,"  grieved  they  with  tears, 
"  How  strange  it  seems  that  the  dear  Lord  should  deal 
So  sternly  with  the  child.     In  all  these  years 
She  longed  in  vain  to  go  beyond  the  hills." 

"  She  has  her  wish,"  the  gray-haired  pastor  said, 

''She  has  gone  forth  beyond  the  barring  hills, 

Not  with  slow  feet,  a  beaten  path  to  tread; 

But  with  swift  wings  to  bear  her  where  she  wills. 

What  matters  it  if  life's  periphery 

Be  small  or  great?     What  traveler  now  so  wise 

As  this  young  girl,  who  sees  eternity — 

Sees  God  Himself  with  her  clear  angel  eyes! 

While  we  are  still  environed  by  the  hills." 


LOVE.  59 


LOYE. 

Tl^E'VE  all  had  our  lovers;  some  constant,  some  not — 

'  "     Though  each  vowed  to  us  everlasting  affection — 
Some  left  us  in  anger;  some  only  forgot, 

And  some  were  dispatched  by  a  simple  rejection. 

But  these  people — Ah  these!  love  on  without  end, 

Regardless  of  failings  of  flesh  or  of  temper, 
More  constant  than  lover,  more  loving  than  friend, 
Though  all  others  fail,  they  are  fideles  semper. 

They  pour  out  their  love  for  our  commonest  use, 
Unmindful  of  circumstance,  care,  or  requiting; 

If  smitten  on  one  cheek,  they  condone  the  abuse, 
And  turn  us  the  other  for  kissing  or  smiting. 

Ah!  when  was  a  lover's  love  ever  like  this? 

Enduring  all  things,  still  hoping,  believing. 
Depending  on  neither  a  smile  nor  a  kiss, 

Lavish  in  giving,  e'en  if  little  receiving. 


60  LOVE. 

No  others — not  even  ourselves — with  such  zest 
Hear  sounded  our  praises,  nor  think  us  so  clever; 

They  hold  as  better  than  other  folks  best — 

God  bless  these  dear  fathers  and  mothers  forever! 


IN    EMBKYO.  6] 


IK  EMBRYO. 


TT7HAT  was  life  to  the  moth  in  its  chrysalid  thrall? 

Did  it  wake  'twixt  its  dreamings  and  ask:  "Is  this  all"; 
Did  it  thrill  to  the  tips  of  its  embryo  wings 
With  an  impulse  for  flight  born  of  bright  visionings 
Flashing  by  in  the  wildering  maze  of  a  dream, 
Then  lost  as  the  cloud  loses  the  lightning's  swift  gleam? 

Did  the  light  filter  through  its  soft,  silken  cocoon 

And  strike  its  closed  eyes  with  a  vague  sense  of  that  boon — 

The  power  of  sight?     Did  the  ambient  air  break 

Softly  in  waves  o'er  its  walls  and  bid  it  awake 

And  pierce  through  the  strange  silence  and  darkness  around 

To  a  beautiful  world  full  of  sunlight  and  sound  ? 

Did  it  struggle  against  its  invisible  chain 

Till  it  grew  almost  mad  with  the  longing  and  pain? 


62  IN    EMBRYO. 

I  know  not.     But  I  know  that  a  hand,  never  seen, 
Cut  its  bonds  all  away  with  strokes  subtle  and  keen, 
And  one  day  it  came  forth  from  its  close  prison  cell, 
Free!  strong-winged  and  clear-eyed!     Thus  at  last  it  befell 
That  the  great  sunlit  world,  which  had  once  seemed  so  strange, 
This  rejoicing,  freed  creature  had  now  for  its  range. 

jfc  to  j£  £  &  a£ 

My  dear  friend,  dost  thou  guess  what  my  thought  is  for  thee  ? 

Does  the  strain  of  thy  soul  reveal  captivity? 

Dost  thou  know  thy  own  self,  in  relation  to  life, 

As  only  a  something  with  a  something  at  strife? 

Does  the  silence  but  echo  thy  wild  questionings  ? 

The  Divine  life  within  thee  is  stirring  its  "wings. 

Abide!  Thy  strong  soul  grows  large  for  its  shell, 
And  some  glad  blessed  day,  the  same  bliss  which  befell 
The  beautiful  moth  shall  happen  to  thee, 
And  thou,  too,  shalt  know  what  it  is  to  be  free; 
What  sight  is,  what  life  is,  and  heaven — yea,  more — 
When  thy  wings  vail  thy  face  as  thou  bowest  before 
The  Creator  of  life,  life's  Eedeemer  and  Guide, 
Thou  shalt  know  what  it  is  to  be  aye  satisfied. 


EDITH.  $3 


EDITH. 

7th  mo.  3,  1880. 
/^\NLY  a  year  since  she  entered 
^   Our  goodly  and  beautiful  land, 
Where  at  once  she  set  up  her  kingdom, 
At  once  began  her  command. 

With  smiles  and  tears  she  has  conquered; 

Her  royal  will  knows  no  excuse; 
She  has  no  reason  for  doubting 

That  the  world  was  made  for  her  use. 

She  snares  us  all  by  her  dimples; 

She  enchants  us  all  by  her  eyes; 
She  seemeth  a  pure  white  lily 

Sweetly  blooming  in  human  guise. 

Whatever  is  good  and  lovely, 
Whatever  is  dainty  and  bright, 

Appears  to  her  little  Highness 
Her  own  indisputable  right. 


64  EDITH. 


No  gem  so  rare,  nor  so  costly 
That  she  would  not  quietly  take 

As  part  of  her  great  possessions, 
And  of  it a  plaything  make. 

I  saw  her  look  at  Niagara 

With  a  cool,  indifferent  air, 
As  if  she  had  seen  falls  grander, 

And  didn't  for  these  much  care. 

Wonderful  things  she's  been  used  to! 

That  is  evident  every  day; 
And  nothing  so  much  surprises 

Her  as  not  to  have  her  own  way. 

Dear  little  lily-like  princess! 

Her  strength  in  her  helplessness  lies. 
She  captures  our  worldly  wisdom 

By  her  looks  so  unworldly  wise. 

O  may  she  rule  long  and  sweetly; 

Have  happy  returns  of  the  day, 
And  find  that  they  who  best  govern 

Are  they  who  first  learn  to  obey. 


IN    MEMOKIAM.  65 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

Died — Suddenly,  Sabbath  evening,  April  20, 1879, 
Miss  Jennie  Koberts. 

1~\ID  a  strange,  sweet  exaltation  thrill 

*-*   Her  soul  that  fair  last  day,  as  she  drew 

So  near  to  heaven?     Albeit,  still 

Unconscious,  it  was  opening  to  her  view. 

Did  the  light  within,  inform  her  eyes  ? 

That  she  turned  so  oft  to  say 
To  friends — farther  off  from  Paradise — 

"  This  is  such  a  lovely,  lovely  day." 

That  light,  strange  and  tender,  which  has  place 
In  souls,  but  was  ne'er  on  sea  nor  land, 

Faded  with  the  eve  a  little  space, 

Then  to  heaven  brightened  as  Christ's  hand 

Led  her  from  death's  valley,  cold  and  dim, 
And  before  the  Father  on  His  throne 
6 


G6  IN    MEMORIAM. 

Her  confessed  who  erst  had  confessed  Him 
In  the  fleeting  earth-life  she  had  known. 

So  she  passed!     A  soul  as  sweet  and  shy- 
As  a  violet  which,  unaware, 

Tells  to  every  one  who  goeth  by 

That  a  fragrant  life  is  blooming  there. 

Does  the  violet,  when  gathered,  miss 
The  twin  flower  blooming  by  her  side  ? 

For  God's  human  flowers,  He  reserves  the  bliss 
Of  again  together  blooming  glorified. 

O,  bereaved  ones!  if  true  love  alway 
Seeks  the  happiness  of  the  beloved — 

Of  its  own  unmindful — ye  can  say, 
With  a  strong  affection  deeply  proved, 

And  the  strength  that  trusting  faith  imparts, 
"Heaven  is  hers!     We  but  count  her  gain!" 

Folding  close  within  your  wounded  hearts 

Thoughts  of  her  sweet  peace,  to  heal  them  of 
their  pain. 


THE    MESSAGE    OF    THE    SNOW.  67 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  SHOW. 

THE  spring  with,  sun,  soft  airs  and  rain 
Had  wrought  its  miracles  and  gone ; 
Summer  and  fall,  in  long,  bright  train 
Of  bloom  and  fruit  and  waving  grain, 
Had  passed,  and  sweeter  trensures  borne. 
"  Is  life,"  I  moaned,  "  a  fateful  breath 
Forever  drawn  away  by  death? 
Is  there  no  joy  lives  on  and  on? 

"The  trees  grieve  over  branches  bare, 
And  stretch  them  up  with  sobbing  cry, 
But  all  in  vain  is  moan  or  prayer, 
I  only  seem  to  hear  or  care, 
And  helpless  watch  the  leaden  sky 
And  hopeless  think  of  other  prayers — 
Then  wonder  if  indeed  God  cares, 
Or — if — He's  there,  to  make  reply." 

Lo!  while  I  wonder,  the  gray  gloom, 
Which  typified  my  heart's  despair, 


(38  THE    MESSAGE    OF    THE    SNOW. 

Breaks  softly  into  starry  bloom 
So  pure,  nor  tint,  nor  faint  perfumn 
Stains  these  white  blossoms  of  the  air, 
Which  spread,  in  prodigal  excess 
Of  nature's  need,  their  loveliness 
Upon  the  earth.     The  branches  bare 

That  shivered  erst  in  wintry  air, 

No  longer  mourn  their  lush  green  leaves, 

And  purer  are  the  robes  they  wear 

Than  fuller  makes  with  utmost  care, 

And  softer  far  than  weaver  weaves. 

The  humblest  shrub,  or  meanest  thins: 

Now  stands  in  white  apparelling, 

And  speaks — God's  priest — to  her  who  grieves. 

"  O,  troubled  heart!     Now  wilt  thou  dare 

To  longer  hopeless  mourn?     Behold, 

What  wondrous  beauty  budding  where 

To  thee  was  only  empty  air. 

Thou  knowest  naught!     Joys  manifold 

Shall  bloom  from  out  thy  sorrow's  night 

Changing  its  darkness  into  light* 

For  know  dear  heart,  that  God  is  there." 


CUI   BONO? 


CUI  BONO? 

M  F  'M  disappointed,  tired  of  life, 

*   If  this  be  all — to  eat,  to  sleep,  to  rise 
And  go  about  the  same  dull  round 

Of  graceless  tasks — to  ask  with  sighs 
What  means  this  riddle  we  call  life? 

Perpetuated  for  what  end? 
Its  days  like  drops  of  water  run 
In  tedious,  ceaseless  repetend. 

"Nothing  I  do  seems  worth  the  while, 

As  well  the  world  without  my  deeds, 
Since  every  one  can  do  the  same 

They  are  as  commonplace  as  weeds. 
Insipid  is  the  cup  I  drink, 

And  hateful  is  my  common  fate; 
My  soul  immortal  fain  would  read 

The  mysteries  that  palpitate 


70  CUI    BONO? 

"  Upon  the  winds,  upon  the  waves, 

And  in  the  bosom  of  the  sky; 
From  longing  soul  and  universe, 

Deep  calls  to  deep,  with  endless  cry. 
Wherefore  that  cry?     O,  wherefore  life? 

Strange  gift!  which  none  can  tell  about 
Until  the  breath  of  unseen  death 

Shall  blow  the  feeble  taper  out." 

Thus  spoke  the  girl,  impatient  grown 

"With  self — with  hard,  dull  circumstance 
That  hedged  her  in  from  paths  up  which 

Her  restless  feet  would  fain  advance. 
Her  heart  was  sick  with  hope  deferred, 

With  purposes  all  unfulfilled. 
In  the  world's  work-shop  of  great  deeds 

There  seemed  no  place  for  her  to  build. 

» 

Sighing,  she  turned  to  her  loved  books, 
As  daily  sh  e  was  wont  to  do, 

In  them  to  drown  accusing  thoughts 
Which  held  her  empty  life  in  view. 


CUI   BONO?  71 

Half  unaware,  her  wand'ring  hand 

Was  stayed  upon  a  volume  old, 
Whose  truths  unto  her  h olden  eyes 
Had  been  no  more  than  fables  told. 

But  now  God's  Spirit  in  her  soul 

To  her  remembrance  once  more  brought 
The  old,  old  story,  read  so  oft, 

And  henceforth  with  new  meaning  fraught 
"  My  child,"  He  said,   "  from  heaven  once, 

The  King's  own  son  came  down  to  earth 
And  lived  earth's  life  of  petty  toil, 

And  set  His  royal  seal  of  worth 

"On  smallest  deed  or  simplest  task 

For  love  or  homely  duty  done. 
And  now  shouldst  thou  but  give  a  cup 

Of  water  to  a  thirsty  one; 
Or,  even  take  a  little  child 

Up  in  thy  arms  and  win  its  smile, 
Thou  still  wouldst  do  a  kingly  thing, 

The  thing  that  Christ  thought  worth  His  while. 


72  CUI    BONO? 

"  He  helped  the  hungry,  erring,  sad, 

And  daily  taught — not  how  to  solve 
Some  problem  fine,  of  how  the  stars 

Around  some  central  sun  revolve. 
But  how  each  one  hath  sacred  part 

In  life's  great  common  brotherhood; 
And  they  live  best,  who,  like  God's  Christ 

Find  their  life's  use  in  doing  good." 


TO    A    FKIEND.  73 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

Mabeied  in  Apbil. 

r\  APRIL!  month  of  miracles, 

^     What  wonders  dost  thou  bring  to  pass! 

Leaves  burgeon  on  the  naked  trees, 

Brown  fields  grow  green  with  tender  grass, 
Sweet  violets,  all  purple  clad, 

Steal  gently  forth  and,  one  by  one, 
Their  hoods  throw  back  from  faces  glad 

To  meet  the  kisses  of  the  sun. 

But  sweeter  miracle  than  these, 

O,  month  of  violets!  is  wrought 
"Within  the  garden  of  the  heart, 

Where  suddenly  love  comes  unsought, 
And  makes  of  life  a  summer  day — 

Though  April  winds  blow  cold  and  chill — 
For  true  love  blooms  for  aye  and  aye, 

And  will  not  fade  as  violets  will. 


74  LINES    WRITTEN    ON    BIRCH    BARK    TO    A    FRIEND. 


LINES  WRITTEN  OH  BIRCH  BARK  TO  A 
FRIEND. 

PEOM  a  dryad  of  the  wood 
*     Stolen  was  this  tablet  fine, 
'Twas  her  stylus  that  engraved 
Clearly  each  unfading  line. 

Scarcely  do  I  dare  to  write, 

In  my  clumsy,  human  way, 
These  few  words,  lest  I  efface 

Tale  or  poem  of  some  fay. 

But  between  my  written  lines 

Thou,  with  clearer  eyes,  may'st  see 

Characters  and  occult  signs 
Untranslatable  by  me. 

Thou  may'st  read  what  the  wild  wind — 
Rover  from  all  lands  and  seas — 


LINES    WRITTEN    ON    BIRCH    BARK    TO    A    FRIEND.  75 

Whispered  when  he  told  his  love 
To  the  palpitating  trees. 

Thou  may'st  find  the  mysteries 

Revealed  here,  of  all  the  wood, 
Happy  secrets  of  the  birds, 

Bees,  and  streamlets,  understood 

And  interpreted  by  none, 

Save  the  fairies  and  the  heart 
That  the  world  hath  never  won, 

Which  must  needs  go  oft  apart 

From  the  busy  haunts  of  men, 

To  the  woods  and  fields  to  find 
Respite,  from  the  "madding  crowd" 

Healing,  for  its  wounds  unkind. 


w 


s. 


PARADISE  REGAIHED. 

THE  circling  hills  of  woods  and  clouds  snow-white 
Held,  in  the  golden  hour  of  eventide, 
The  lake  by  which  I  walked,  and  seemed  to  hide 
From  view  a  world  yet  lovelier,  whose  light 
Streamed  up  behind  their  heights  and  made  them  glow, 
As  wrapped  in  purest  flame,  and  flung  on  high 
Bright  flakes  of  glory  'gainst  the  pale  blue  sky, 
Which  bridged  with  paths  of  fire  the  lake  below. 
I  felt  sweet  music  that  I  could  not  hear, 
I  saw  a  poem  that  I  could  not  read, 
"What  place  is  this?"  I  cried!     Lo,  at  my  need 
Two  lovers  passed — 'twas  Paradise!  for  clear 
I  saw  it  shining  in  his  happy  eyes, 
I  heard  it  murmured  in  her  low  replies. 
•  76 


ONWAED    TO   THE   SEA.  77 


OIWABD  TO  THE  SEA. 

ON  that  broad  stream,  which  bears  upon  its  breast 
A  thousand  isles,  we  sailed  one  summer  day, 
And  gazing  forward,  we  were  quick  to  say, 
"  The  green  shores  meet  beyond  and  must  arrest 
Our  progress."     Lo!  while  yet  our  lips  confest 
Our  fears,  our  good  ship  neared  and  found  a  way 
Between  the  isles, — a  track  that  darkling  lay 
Safe  and  secure,  to  speed  us  on  our  quest. 
Some  parted  links  in  every  barring  chain 
We  found  alway — and  sailing  on  and  on, 
We  came  at  last  into  the  open  main ; 
As  birds  on  wing,  all  ways  were  ours — for,  gone 
Was  every  limit,  save  the  circling  sky 
Which  still  encompassed  as  the  days  went  by. 

II. 

Sailor  upon  life's  stream !  dost  thou  descry 
Before  thy  way  high  rocks  which  seem  to  rise 
To  thrust  thee  back?     Trust  not  thy  holden  eyes, 
They  cannot  see!  events  shall  by  and  by 
Their  poor,  short-sighted  evidence  deny: 
Give  not  thy  heart  to  fears,  thy  lips  to  sighs, 


78  WEDDING-DAY. 

Nor  falter  back,  and  thou,  in  glad  surprise, 
Shalt  find  ere  long  how  God  hath  made  reply 
Unto  thy  need,  while  yet  thou  couldst  not  see; 
Between  the  shores  thy  pathway  lies  secure, 
The  stream  flows  onward  to  Eternity 
And  fain  shall  carry  thee  into  that  pure, 
Broad  ocean  which  God's  love  enspheres — a  sky — 
Alway  encompassing  as  time  goes  by. 

WEDDING-DAY. 

A  FRIEND'S   IN  ENGLAND. 

A  RAINY  April  day!  with  fitful  gleams 
Of  sun,  and  fitful  flight,  from  dripping  eaves, 
Of  chirping  birds  to  trees  whose  tender  leaves 
Scarce  lovelier  than  summer's  bloom  we  deem; 
So  fair  to  winter-weary  eyes  they  seem. 
But  by  that  necromancy  which  retrieves 
The  past,  or  future  happiness  perceives, 
I  conquer  time  and  space,  as  in  a  dream, 
And  see  no  longer  this  wet  April  day; 
But  one  more  fair,  born  under  England's  skies, 
And  nearer  by  a  fortnight  to  sweet  May. 
But  fair  or  dark,  or  in  whatever  guise 
It  comes — within  two  hearts  it  is  a  day 
More  bright  than  any  out  of  Paradise. 
April  14, 1882. 


TO    M.    H.    P.  79 


TO  M.  H.  P. 


MISSIONARY   TO  CHINA. 


^0  mine  own  understanding  did  I  lean 
-*>  When — having  thee  in  mind — I  said,  one  day 
'T would  be  like  death  to  go  so  far  away 
That  the  whole  earth  would  interpose,  between 
My  home  and  me,  its  dense  opacity. 
It  would  be  death — not  life — so  far  tipart 
From  all  that  feeds  and  satisfies  the  heart. 
So  spake  I:  but,  years  later,  seeing  thee, 
I  saw  I  had  but  uttered  half  a  truth. 
Thy  face  revealed  the  rest — "  Whoso  shall  lose 
His  life  for  Christ's  dear  sake,  the  same  in  sooth 
Shall  find  iV     Some  death  pangs — then  God  renews 
The  life!     Thy  happy  eyes  the  secret  told 
Of  blessed  gain — not  loss — an  hundred  fold. 


80  TO   A   PANSY. 


TO  A  PAHSY. 

"Pansy — that's  for  thoughts." 

THOU  lovely  thought  of  God!  perfect  and  fair, 
-*-  Unflawed  by  sin !     I  cannot  e'er  repeat 
Thy  tender  meanings,  thou  dear  paraclete; 
Be  thou  my  messenger  to-day,  and  bear 
Unto  my  friend — with  whom  I  fain  would  share 
All  good  and  pleasant  thoughts — thy  beauty  sweet, 
Through  which  I  feel,  like  unseen  pulses,  beat 
God's  love  and  power.     Then,  wilt  thou  declare. 
In  gentle  breathings  to  my  absent  friend, 
My  love,  solicitude,  and  blessings  more 
Than  I  can  think  or  ask  for?     Let  these  blend 
With  heaven's  message,  thou  didst  bear  before ; 
And  so  the  deepest  feelings  of  my  heart — 
For  which  there  are  no  words — shalt  thou  impart. 


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